


slow burn

by domesticatedantelope (Vault_of_Glass)



Series: power couple [4]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Shotgunning, drugs cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 22:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/domesticatedantelope
Summary: The one where Colt smokes Mercy out.





	slow burn

**Author's Note:**

> For RoD Appreciation Week~

“Your dad would kill me if he knew what we were doing.”

The offhand comment startles Mercy into laughing. She bites the inside of her cheek, fixing her face into a scowl. “That’s not funny.”

Colt grins, unabashed. “You laughed.” 

Stretched back against the couch, he lets the filter of a joint hang lazily between his lips, cupping those hands she loves over his mouth. The lighter flicks to life under a few strikes of his thumb, and the flame dances reflected in his eyes as the end of the joint lights up vibrant red. A ring of glowing scarlet smolders down the paper when he tests a few gentle hits, smoke seeping in white ringlets from between his teeth. 

With that devilish smirk and the joint cradled between his fingers, Colt looks like some cautionary tale about temptation given flesh. Gray curls of smoke fade slowly in the air around them, fragrant with the smell of burning paper and the unfamiliar sticky sweetness of weed, like something that’s been buried under wet earth. He tips her head up by the chin, brushing his thumb down the slope of her throat, where her pulse beats rapidly beneath the skin. “You ready?”

Mercy feels a familiar twinge of excitement right at the center of her heart, the running start before the fall. “Yes.” 

Gripping the joint between index and thumb, Colt sets the filter to his lips and draws a long, slow hit into his lungs. His brows knit, and his chest expands as he inhales, a few thick whorls of smoke escaping from his teeth when he sets the joint aside and reaches out to take her face gently between his hands.

She gravitates into his lap, and this, at least, is blissfully familiar: the rough warmth of his palms, the sprint that leaps in her pulse when he tilts his mouth to hers. The kiss starts easy and unhurried before it deepens into her lips parting for the stroke of his tongue. She feels the tickle of his breath, the first dry taste of smoke, and then he exhales, and she’s breathing in, stealing the hit from his lips until she can feel the smoke swirling heavy in her lungs.

His mouth lingers to brush against hers once, twice more, teasing with teeth before he pulls away. Eyes dark and lidded and fixed firmly on her mouth, he strokes his thumb across her lips and back again. “Breathe in if you can,” he guides, voice husky with the rasp of smoke. “Just a little more.”

One last timid sip of air fills her lungs to the brink of her limits. There’s no heat, but the smoke still burns her throat, and the taste that lingers after is mossy and damp, gray like ash, scorched earth on the back of her tongue. Her lungs throb with the unfamiliar sensation, and then they start to ache, and slowly she allows herself to exhale, eyes widening when the faintest cloud of smoke forms on her breath. “I did it!”

An enamored smile flits across his face before he stifles it away, stuffed down wherever Colt Kaneko hides his smiles from the world. “Congratulations, stoner. Wanna try on your own?”

Blushing, lip bitten pink between her teeth, she shakes her head and chances a swift glance up through her lashes. “I want it from you.”

His laughter comes as no surprise, but the sound is softer than expected; it shivers warm like sunlight down her spine as he leans in to kiss each of her glowing cheekbones. “You are so fucking cute, you know that?” 

She basks in the heat of his touch, the timbre of his voice that hovers somewhere between fondness and frustration. Her gaze chases the perfect architecture of his hands as he taps ash from the end of the joint with a practiced flick of his fingers. The cherry glows bright red when he inhales again, slow as the sun crawls the sky, every second that he draws it out stretching into another torturous eternity between his kisses. 

From the amusement in his eyes, he’s enjoying making her wait. 

“ _Colt_ ,” she whines, and curls her hand into his shirt. 

His lips twitch toward a smirk around the filter, fighting not to laugh. Finally he leaves the joint to hang between his fingers, tangling his other hand into her hair, drawing her close and dropping his mouth softly over hers. She nips hard at his bottom lip, feeling him shake with stifled laughter as he passes the smoke to her mouth with a few languid strokes of his tongue. His hand climbs the length of her backbone, tracking the swell in her ribs as they breathe in sync. When her lungs are full, he breaks away to drag his mouth down the cage of her jaw, warm lips and biting teeth and the barest scrape of stubble; it’s been a few days since he’s shaved, and the sensation never fails to make her shiver. 

Mercy almost forgets about the smoke in her lungs. Her head feels several pounds too light when she remembers to breathe out, and then Colt has his teeth against her throat, and there’s no telling if it’s the progression of his mouth or the weed making it so difficult to pin her thoughts down.

A pleasant buzz has settled in behind her eyes, and a euphoric sort of wonder slows the constant chatter of her worries. For the briefest moment (or is it much longer?) her mind is entirely quiet, the type of inner silence she can only ever achieve during climax or a rush like flying down the freeway at daredevil speeds. This is softer, washing over her in one long, gentle wave of calm and stealing all her stress away when it recedes. 

It leaves her blissfully carefree as she conducts a thorough study of Colt’s neck and shoulders, trailing her fingers up the contours of his throat and the sharp angles of his face, sketching over his pulse and the hinge of his jaw. He allows this exploration with only a teasing smirk, shifting to grant her better access when she requires further area for consideration. Past the heavy ghost of smoke that haunts her tongue, she can just taste the sharp of peppermint and leather on his skin, the same delicious smell that clings to the sheets of their bed or the sweat down the back of his neck when he’s just stepped off his bike. She threads her nails into his hair, and his head falls back with a shudder, eyes drifting shut as dregs of smoke lift from his mouth and dissipate in twisting shapes above their heads.

She has yet to decide what she likes more: the weed, or how he shares it with her. Then his hands tease up under the frayed hem of her shorts, and her heart settles firmly on the latter. 

Between drags of his own, Colt slips her hits in teasing kisses that become increasingly involved until he abandons the joint altogether, leaves it trailing smoke among the cinders in the ashtray to fill his hands with Mercy instead. They spill out across the floor together, breathing smoke and laughter as her shoulders hit the carpet and he follows to claim her smiling mouth. 

He knits his fingers through her hair, gripping in just hard enough that she can feel the pressure of his hold. Hunger stains a flush across his cheeks, darkens his eyes with pupil as he licks his teeth and smirks at her. “You know, if you wanted to fuck me, you didn’t have to get me high first.”

Despite her greatest effort, Mercy laughs. She fights a wave of giddy laughter, trying and failing to tame the smile from her face. “I always want to fuck you.”

He blinks, briefly dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, did Mercy just talk _dirty_?”

Heat suffuses her face, but she persists with a weed-tipsy smile, reaching up to tweak the shell of his ear. “You heard me.”

“I did.” There’s a shift in his expression, heavy with intent: promise, and something close to threat. “I think I want to hear it again.”

Mercy feels that ledge beneath her toes. Her heart lodges somewhere below her throat when she summons her most winning smirk and takes the leap. “You’ll have to convince me.”

This time his laughter is all arrogance, that softness burned away into a heat that skitters like warm fingers down her skin. He tilts her head back by the grip he has secured among her hair, steady and slow, the sting just barely there before his mouth skims her pulse point with gentle, pulling kisses; punctuates them each with the blunt edge of teeth, then his tongue charting the muscles in her neck. 

She is never more sensitive than moments like these, when Colt has her at his mercy and her throat under his teeth, and he is free to reclaim every tender nerve that he’s discovered over all the hours of his own attentive exploration. His greedy fingers play across her skin with expert understanding, rough where she is soft. He conquers her in languid and painstaking increments, skirts his fingertips over the dark waves and white spray of her tattoo, the beauty marks that scatter out like stars against her skin. He worries the first button of her shirt beneath his thumb and glances up to consider the flush across her cheeks with an impish grin.

“You look impatient.”

She is. Her thoughts are wild, errant things, tearing beyond her reach; when she dares to let them wander, they travel back in winding paths to the shape of his mouth, the taste of smoke on his tongue, the vague outlines his fingers trace into her skin. Time cycles strangely through the haze of her high; she has spent both seconds and an interminable eternity under his touch, and she needs more of him at once. “You look pleased with yourself.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His tone straddles the line of mocking, and any other time she wouldn’t let him get away with it - but the pet name softens at her agitation, wears her down into a pool of heat and hungry body, aching for his touch. “You’ll be pleased with me pretty soon, too.” 

One long hand curls around her wrists and cages them above her head. Her body bends, driven open by his grip, forcing her back into an arch that sets her flush against his chest. It leaves them both so intimately close, close enough to feel the muscles in his body shift with breath, the heat that radiates from deep beneath his skin. She throbs where she has bruises from his teeth, heartbeats of numbing pain that pale and sweeten when his fingers slip beneath her shorts and find the slick between her thighs.

She seizes, and Colt groans, and they shiver together as he makes a teasing pass with the pads of his fingers. The contact scalds like branding irons, heat that he imprints over wet skin and drags in looping shapes until she keens and squirms and tugs her wrists against his hold, his name a broken syllable between her teeth. 

He tempers his touch, slowing to an excruciating pace that only hints at something deeper. 

“ _Colt_.” Mercy whines and drinks him in with pleading eyes, the smug tilt of his mouth, the smooth planes of his cheekbones and the faint stipple of freckles that tiptoe across them. He’s spent the last few days out in the sun, and its touch lingers on his skin; she wants to kiss them over, one by one. 

His gaze hangs lovingly on her face, watching the need arch in her features. When she meets the ardent longing in his eyes, he smirks and dips his fingers lower, teasing at pushing in, she needs him just a little further, _just_ -

Colt stops. His touch retreats, and humor lights his face when she whimpers in frustration. “Tell me what you want, Mercy.” The pad of his thumb circles softly at the frantic pulse in her wrist, pressing the briefest reassurance there: _Ask me. I will provide._

The words are caught somewhere behind the blunt force of her shyness, too crude and too heavy to lift. Her face burns at the thought of forming them. 

“Hmm.” He considers her with the pleased echo of a smirk, and then his mouth is hunting down her breastbone to the collar of her blouse, catching the cotton tight between his teeth and tugging it aside in one dismissive motion. Buttons pop apart and scatter to the floor, but she hasn’t the time to protest before his breath warms the sensitive curves of her breasts, tongue lashing lazily against her skin, as if he will exhaust every last inch of her until he gets what he wants. 

The warmth and dull, sweet pleasure wind a frenzied course down to the heat between her legs, where everything compounds into the most exquisite ache. “ _Please_ -!” It lifts unbidden from her tongue, compressing all her want and need into one desperate, seething word. 

“I’m listening.” Still rich with humor, but there’s hunger there too, undercurrents surging in his voice. His fingers tease her with deeper and harder strokes as he sucks a scattered path of love bites down her throat, finally soothing at that flame that itches underneath her skin. “ _Ask me_ for it, Mercy.”

“Please -” And it’s easier now, forcing the phonemes through her teeth. “Colt, please. I _want you_.”

“You want me toooo…” He lets the sentence drag out, long and drawling, and she knows, _she knows_ the words he wants to hear, but the blushing bashful part of her still bites them back. His touch doubles down between her legs until her hips are bucking hard against his hand, and everything is building, winding tighter, forming into promises of something solid. He eases off and then persists, retreats and resieges and breaks her down into a sobbing mess beneath his hands. “C’mon, Mercy. I know you have it in you.” The kiss he crushes to her mouth is rough with urgency, just short of pain. Two fingers part the wet folds of her sex and start to push in, working down to the first knuckle and no further as his thumb flutters breath-light over her clit. 

She’s close, so unbearably close, stranded past the limit of coherency. Her knuckles have gone numb within his grasp, muscles pulled taut with coiled tension. “Pleaseplease _please_ ,” she sings, as if the plea will coax him somehow into giving in. And then his thumb twitches down hard against her clit, fingers fucking inches deeper, and the last frayed strand of her resistance snaps. “Colt, please, god, fuck me.” The blush remains, but words rush to her lips before she can stop them, a floodgate finally lifted. “Baby, I’m dying for you, please. _Please make me come_.”

A wounded noise rumbles low in his throat as he drags her into a kiss, hands racing to yank at their clothing. The blood rushes back into the tips of her fingers, and she seizes the chance to run her hands over the dips between his abs, the roll of muscle in his arms and shoulders and the column of his neck, tense beneath the inky waves of his tattoo. 

There’s a breathless moment of bare skin on skin, the heat of him above her like a singular sun as he sets one last kiss against her panting mouth. He braces a hand above her shoulder, and she hooks her thighs around his waist, guiding him in against her. Their eyes lock, and her heart leaps at the first hard, hard press of him between her thighs. His head tilts down against hers, thumb soft at the line of her jaw as he sinks into her with slow, measured rolls of his hips. 

“Ye- _essss_.” Her nails etch lines across his back, red-painted points that furrow crimson arcs into his skin, and the throbbing twitch of his cock deep inside of her suggests that he can more than take the pain. 

Seething a groan into his teeth, Colt drops his hand to the slick crossroads of their bodies. His jaw works taut beneath the skin as he resumes the urgent pace he started earlier, toying those devilish fingers over the hood of her clit. He doesn’t fuck her, not when she sobs or begs or digs her nails into his hips, just holds her full around his cock as he forces her closer and closer to that knife-edge line of her undoing. The determined heat that scorches in his gaze sinks hot, tight fingers at the knot of tension in her belly, and realization wrenches into place.

_He wants to feel her come around him._

Her thoughts tangle together into one world-shattering conclusion, then swiftly yank apart and fade to ash as Mercy tumbles into climax. Black void pulses behind her lids, throbbing with every frantic heartbeat, and she is _full_ , is falling, empty pieces stringing all together into something wholly perfect as his name unwinds into a wordless scream. 

The crest recedes like waves away from shore, leaving her shell-shocked and stunned for breath. Colt’s arms are wrapped hot around her when she recovers, sweat and pot and peppermint gracing her tongue when she sucks blindly at the base of his throat. 

“ _God_ , you feel so good when you come,” he sighs, between the clumsy kisses that he strings along her shoulders. Another pitch of his hips slings them tight together, sinks him down into the deepest parts of her, heavy-handed pleasure that spreads over every nerve with wildfire greed. He presses a trembling hand to the side of her face, eyes hooded, fingers twitching down to the soft pink of her lips and hooking firmly into her mouth, rough pads against her tongue.

Acting on instinct, Mercy closes her lips around his fingers and _sucks_. A shudder zigzags up his spine, hips jerking hard against her. She tastes smoke, tastes Colt, tastes herself between his fingers when he rocks a deep, rough thrust and comes inside of her, that warm, wet rush that always makes her shiver. His groan spills hot against her shoulder, and she curls soothing nails down the nape of his neck, brushing kisses to the damp skin of his temple as he grinds out the last few wrings of pleasure.

Panting, Colt slumps into her arms and crushes her against him, leaving spent attempts at kisses down her jaw. New hickies throb to life under her skin, and rug burn itches at her shoulders, but they are only little pains, and more than worth the pleasures that preceded them. Lazy with afterglow, he busies himself revisiting the bruises he left like landmarks on her body, tending to each with soft nudges of lips and tongue. 

In the heart-pounding ease that settles, Mercy feels just the right amount of sore and _properly_ debauched. “Mmn, I think you were right.”

“I usually am.” He reaches over to retrieve the joint, long cold, smiling around the filter as he strikes the lighter back to life. “But what about this time?”

She trails her fingers down the line that arcs in from his hip, where the sweat from their lovemaking is still cooling on his skin. “My dad would _kill you_ if he knew what we were doing.”


End file.
